


Preparation

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Rough Oral Sex, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 23:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11702547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: For Glorfindel, Erestor begins an old Gondolin tradition.





	Preparation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ulan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for Ulan’s “11 [...] [Educational] for Glorfindel and Erestor” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/163120603835/prompt-list-4).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He can’t help a flicker of disappointment when he arrives at the gates and finds only servants there to meet him. Elrond, of course, has more important things to attend to, and Glorfindel wouldn’t have wanted to monopolize his time. Erestor is always similarly busy, but considering that Glorfindel proposed just before he left, he would’ve thought that would change. 

He shakes his head only at himself as he walks Asfaloth to the nearest attendant—he should’ve known that Erestor would, of course, remain _Erestor_. Apparently, he’s just as uptight as ever, regardless of the engagement rings they now wear on their fingers. The bands are only simple silver, yet unadorned as they’ll become on the night they say their vows, and their schedules are yet uninterrupted—when the call came that a guard was needed on the western edges of their lands, Glorfindel road out at once. Erestor had bid him farewell with a kiss, and he’d hoped that upon his return, they’d pick up from that very moment: held in each other’s arms. 

It’s only a small gathering on the central platform below Imladris’ stairs, and the others that went with Glorfindel on his journey are swiftly off. The horses are taken away, and Glorfindel’s left alone to stroll the empty halls—it’s later in the evening than they’d planned for. A few sconces are still lit along the open corridors, but the stars are out and the minstrels are quiet, even the birds hushed in their sleep. Glorfindel hopes, at least, that Erestor might be in his quarters. 

He considers heading to _Erestor’s_ quarters, then has a familiar tinge of longing for the coming day where they’ll _share_ rooms and never have to be apart at all. For now, he decides on his own, simply because Erestor should be allowed to enjoy his personal space while it’s still solely his, and because Glorfindel has returned caked in dirt and sweat and doesn’t imagine Erestor would appreciate that mess drudging across his polished floors. 

Glorfindel’s thoughts are all in that vein: a steady stream of _Erestor_ this and _Erestor_ that, until he finally reaches his chambers. He twists the knob with welcome relief—it will be good, at least, to sleep in a soft bed again. 

He steps into his starlit quarters, shuts the door, and looks up to find that he isn’t alone. His beloved boyfriend, who he still thought all very _proper_ up until now, is waiting for him. It’s as much a surprise to find Erestor there as it is to know that Erestor retired from his office before Imladris’ candles were all blown out—he usually works far later than this. He works all day. And he tends to wear thick, high-collared robes as he does so, not the thin, sheer white night-robe that he wears now. 

The gown drapes across his knees and pools on the hardwood floor beneath him, because he sits on folded legs at the foot of Glorfindel’s bed. His dark hair’s drawn over his shoulder and his eyes are sharp through the darkness. Glorfindel’s breath is caught more from the beauty of it than the shock. Erestor is always _beautiful_ , but it’s usually a harder attraction, not the soft, delicate treat he now appears. He gives Glorfindel a wry smile, thick lashes low across his eyes. 

As Glorfindel comes closer, he asks, awed, “What is this?”

“Your rite,” Erestor answers. When Glorfindel stops just before him, he reaches up to clasp Glorfindel’s hand, pulling it forward, and he places a chaste kiss against Glorfindel’s knuckles, lips brushing across the silver ring. A subtle shiver runs up Glorfindel’s spine from that alone. When Erestor looks up at him, it’s through dark, half-lidded eyes, already a little dilated, and his soft lips purr, “Was this not the custom in Gondolin for elves of our stature, my love? For a servant to submit themselves to their intended before a marriage, so that they might learn what it truly takes to please their lord and to see if they would be able to provide it?”

Glorfindel thought no more shock could come to him, but he was wrong. It never would’ve occurred to him, so long and far from his old home, to even ask for such a ritual. He has no idea how Erestor even heard of it—it’s been long dead. But then, Erestor is perhaps the only one in Imladris besides Lord Elrond himself to have read the entirety of the library, and information is Erestor’s business. Though Erestor spoke of it in question, he looks at Glorfindel with total surety. Glorfindel’s head spins, his love and his lust at war. 

If he’d known he had the option, _of course_ he would’ve been picturing Erestor in that very place all this time. But he hadn’t, and he didn’t, and he mutters numbly, “I was not going to subject you to that.”

Erestor lifts one well-arched brow, musing, “You would have me miss its benefit? I admit the structure of such a night is strange, but the sentiment... I think it could prove educational.” And he has to say it _like that_ , in such a dreadfully _Erestor_ way. But that odd contrast of strictness and coyness is part of what Glorfindel so loves about him. 

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Glorfindel says, “I am not sure if I wish you to learn what such a structure may reveal. I would not risk ruining this.”

Erestor grins wryly. He replies, “If there are desires in your heart that I truly could not tolerate, it would eventually ruin this anyway. But I doubt very much that, even so freed, you would want for anything I would not give. And I would prefer to learn of it now.”

For a long moment, Glorfindel considers those words. The tradition, though it sprang from the imbalance of power, did have _some_ merit, but that was in a different world, and it was never meant for them. Erestor is no servant, Glorfindel not _his_ lord, but merely a warrior with a lingering title. He has no House now, no servants, nothing to offer in return for such devotion. Finally, Glorfindel slowly answers, “Very well... but only if tomorrow night I submit to _your_ desires.” Erestor lifts another eyebrow but says nothing more of their roles. 

He only caresses the hand still trapped in his and murmurs, “Agreed. But tonight, I am yours, so I suggest you put that time to use.” He ends with another kiss across the back, and Glorfindel’s pulse spikes in response. 

He removes his hand from Erestor’s grasp, moving it instead to cup Erestor’s chin, though Erestor already looks up at him. Erestor’s lips part at the soft touch, at the way Glorfindel’s fingers curl beneath him and Glorfindel’s thumb strokes his cheek. Erestor can be such a tempting minx when he wishes it, so cold at other times. But his complexity is part of his allure. Glorfindel loves him so wholly that it’s hard to decide where to begin. Glorfindel’s entertained many lewd fantasies of Erestor over the years, some he would do and some he wouldn’t, even given a chance like this. So many come to mind that it’s hard to choose. 

Having just come from a brisk ride, Glorfindel considers for a moment dragging Erestor down to the stables, stripping him bare and fitting him with a bridal, leading him around and swatting his pert rear with a riding crop. Then the scene transforms, and Glorfindel thinks it might be better to have Erestor in his study, on all fours by the fire, a dark collar around his throat and a leash still in Glorfindel’s hand, Erestor lapping milk out of a saucer on the floor while Glorfindel pet him behind the ears. Or perhaps Glorfindel would like to bend Erestor over his desk and fuck him hard against the surface, scattering his precious papers and inkpot. Or perhaps over the balcony, with Erestor’s creamy skin awash in moonlight and his delicious cries released for all to hear. There have even been times when Glorfindel has spent dreary council meetings imagining taking Erestor in the middle of the table while all the rest watched, witnessing the wondrous truth that Erestor, their strict chief of staff, can come utterly undone under Glorfindel’s talented hands. 

But none of those things would he do now, at least, not first, when Erestor looks so openly up at him, awaiting his command. In the white, flowing robe hung low across Erestor’s shoulders, he looks almost innocent, though Glorfindel is sure he’s anything but. The material is just light enough to show the rosy colour of his nipples beneath, the little buds tenting the fabric lightly. His crotch is hidden between his plush thighs and too many folds of fabric, but Glorfindel eyes it nonetheless. He eyes all of Erestor, becoming more ravenous with every furtive look, until his body’s moving of his own accord. He reaches his hand into Erestor’s silken hair, fingers twisting deep into the thick locks, and then he fists tight enough to catch Erestor’s breath. When he jerks Erestor up by it, Erestor makes a choking sound that makes Glorfindel’s cock twitch despite his guilt. He doesn’t pull Erestor fully up, just to his knees, and holds him there, bent and throat pulled taut. Then Glorfindel dives down, crushing his lips hard against his lover’s. 

Erestor mewls delightfully, trying to part for him, and it makes Glorfindel immediately thrust his tongue inside—he eagerly laps Erestor up, filling Erestor as much as he can, fully aware that he’s making it hard for Erestor to breathe. Even with their agreement, he half expects Erestor to push away for air. But Erestor stays obediently in his grasp, submitting to the fierceness of his love, and Glorfindel takes full advantage of that permission. 

When he’s finished licking Erestor from the inside out, he bends Erestor back all the farther, until Erestor gasps, quivering. Glorfindel pauses to ask, “Have I held your hair too tight, my love?”

Erestor tilts his head as though to shake it, winces when he finds there isn’t enough give in Glorfindel’s grip, and instead he licks his lips. He closes his eyes to answer, “No, my lord.” He hasn’t called Glorfindel by that title in _decades_. The sound of it now, and the reverence with which it’s spoken, makes Glorfindel hot beneath his collar. Erestor tells him breathlessly, “Pull it as hard as you like.”

Enflamed, Glorfindel wrenches Erestor completely up by it, which makes Erestor cry out and stumble—Glorfindel has to catch him about the waist, pulling him tight. His lithe body flattens into Glorfindel’s toned one, the flimsy gown in sharp contrast to all of Glorfindel’s thick riding clothes. Glorfindel still grinds into Erestor, reaching down with his free hand to clutch Erestor’s taut ass, squeezing it through the robe and rubbing Erestor rudely against him. He’s sure Erestor can feel just how hard he is already. But Erestor has no time to say a word against it, because Glorfindel captures his mouth again, slamming into it and devouring him whole. 

Each kiss from there is feral, Glorfindel so intent on swallowing Erestor up that Erestor can barely respond. They’re an even match in most things, but Erestor’s strength is in precision, whereas Glorfindel can unleash completely, becoming nothing more than _animal_. He lets his hunger guide him, takes his fill without worry as he rarely ever does—for once, he makes no effort to treat Erestor as gently as he deserves. Instead, Glorfindel grants Erestor this: a peak at just how much of a nightmare his lust can truly be. At least, he tells himself, if he does still have Erestor after this, he’ll never have to fear Erestor finding out about this darkness. 

When it becomes clear that Glorfindel is again stealing Erestor’s breath, he stops enough to allow Erestor to gasp in air, growling around it, “How should I take you?” He ducks beneath Erestor’ to jaw to nip at Erestor’s neck, then opens wide to _suck_ and dig his teeth into the tender flesh. Erestor has no chance to answer, because Glorfindel holds his throat captive. Glorfindel muses across Erestor’s bobbing adam’s apple, “Should I pin you up against a wall and fuck you right through it, or should I tie you to the mattress and despoil you there?”

Erestor tries to answer through a broken groan, “We will leap right to that...?”

Glorfindel can’t help a little chuckle, acknowledging as he moves to gnaw Erestor’s elegant ear, “I am sure when it is your turn, you will make me wait torturously long for my release. But the sight of you already has me hard, and I would not waste another second not encased in your perfect body.” He bites Erestor’s lobe hard enough to earn a muffled whimper—it’s so _cute_ to watch Erestor try to restrain such undignified noises even now. As Glorfindel licks over the wound, he purrs, “Besides, we have all night, I believe—the ritual should not end until the sun has risen.”

“In that case,” Erestor starts, voice catching when Glorfindel licks down into the dip of his collarbone, “what would my... ahh.. lord... like to do to me first...?”

“ _So many things_ ,” Glorfindel all but growls. “Make sweet love to you, take you on all fours like an animal, throw you to the floor and hold you down while I take you...”

“Ahh,” Erestor sighs, like coming to a new understanding: “so you wish to be rough with me, then?”

“I just want _you_. But my ardor has grown so fierce that I am not sure I can control myself enough to treat you as you deserve, and I would instead like to use you so thoroughly tonight that you will wear my marks for days.”

Erestor relents a little moan, and Glorfindel quickly kisses it away, and that alerts him to another option: the glory of Erestor’s mouth. 

He means to pull away, but it takes several attempts, so addicting is the taste of his beloved partner. When at last he manages, he pushes Erestor down, fingers still threaded right to Erestor’s skull. Erestor takes the hard push without a word, and as soon as he’s kneeling at Glorfindel’s feet, his hands fly to Glorfindel’s trousers, tugging subserviently at the ties. Glorfindel groans his approval, and a moment later, Erestor’s warm hands are pulling him free. 

Holding Glorfindel’s cock with all ten long digits, Erestor peers back up again, dilated eyes asking what his abused mouth doesn’t. Glorfindel orders, “Swallow it.”

Erestor nods. He ducks his head, opening his mouth wide, and without hesitation, he thrusts himself forward, enveloping Glorfindel’s cock in the heat of his mouth in one swift go. Glorfindel cries out in surprise and sudden _pleasure_. Erestor’s wet, tight cavern takes him down, deeper with every passing second, until Glorfindel can feel himself squeezing down Erestor’s throat, and Erestor burrows right to the base, leaving no room left for his hands. His nose digs into the golden hair above Glorfindel’s shaft, chin flat against Glorfindel’s balls. For one dizzying moment, Glorfindel has to clutch Erestor with both hands just to stay up. Never mind that Erestor immediately starts _sucking_.

On most occasions, Erestor is a languid tease. When he’s gone down on Glorfindel in the past, it’s always begun with sensual little licks and humming kisses, lapping all over him until he trembled with need. There’ve been times when Erestor deep-throated him, but they were always worked up to—rewards for Glorfindel holding on as long as he did. Most of the time, Erestor is more efficient, sticking to half in his mouth and half with his hands, which he’s more than good enough to justify. Tonight, there’re no such restrictions. Erestor presses as far as he can, sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks, then begins to pull away again, reaching the tip.

And before he can push down again, Glorfindel slams him there. Erestor chokes, and Glorfindel swears, “Sorry,” beneath his breath. But he doesn’t let go. He’s always loved the way his fingers feel in Erestor’s dark locks. He leaves them there, letting Erestor pull back, but not beyond the head. Erestor then dives down again, nearly just as swift, sucking as he goes, beginning to bob up and down at a brutal pace that Glorfindel can barely keep up with. For one jealous moment, it makes Glorfindel wonder just how much practice Erestor has with giving head—how many other council members did he suck off before Glorfindel won him? But then the pleasure overwhelms Glorfindel’s mind, and that irrational worry seeps away, replaced instead with gratitude: this is the man he’s going to marry. This is the man that will lie in his bed, submit to his touch, please him and love him. It feels too good to be true. Glorfindel’s torn with the feral want to kiss Erestor’s mouth again, but not enough to pull Erestor off his cock. 

For as long as Glorfindel can last, he stands there, hips starting to thrust into Erestor’s face and cock filling Erestor’s throat each time—Erestor occasionally gags but never pushes away, just slackens and opens and takes him. Saliva and precum bead at the corners of Erestor’s stretched mouth, dribbling down his chin. Glorfindel can’t decide if he wants to paint Erestor’s face in cum or empty into his stomach. Then Glorfindel thinks of Erestor’s hole, pink and puckered and stretching open around his fingers, twitching with want of his cum, and he thinks of shoving deep into it and coming between Erestor’s cheeks over and over again—

And he bursts, roaring his finish, and holding Erestor cruelly against his crotch. His hips continue jerking into Erestor’s mouth, slamming it out—he pumps load after load across Erestor’s velvet tongue and down his convulsing throat. Erestor’s hands come up to his chin, seed now pouring down it as it escapes, though he tries to swallow. He just can’t keep up, and Glorfindel is too messy. Glorfindel wants to brush Erestor’s teeth with his cock and come in Erestor’s pretty hair. 

Instead, he stays in Erestor’s perfect mouth, until there’s nothing left, and he’s coming down through a delicious afterglow. He doesn’t pull out until he’s flagging, and then Erestor groans hoarsely. He takes a second to pet his throat, then starts wiping Glorfindel’s cum off him, and Glorfindel watches in a hazy awe as he licks each of his fingers clean. 

“Such a waste,” Erestor sighs. His tongue draws flat along his whitened index finger. “I have tasted your cock many times—though I grant you that you have never fucked my face quite so hard as that.” The harsh language seems so odd coming from Erestor’s lips, even when they’re slick with spit and a raw red. “I thought for sure that you would have bawdier fantasies to live out with me.”

“I do,” Glorfindel promises, panting. “And we will get to them yet.” He glances at the bed then, thinking, and makes up his mind. 

It’s hard to leave Erestor’s side, especially with Erestor looking so delectable at his feet, but Glorfindel nonetheless strolls around the bed, stripping out of his boots, tunic, and trousers while he does so. He climbs down onto it, lying across the middle without bothering to get beneath the blankets. Head rested in the pillows, Glorfindel spreads his legs, spent cock fully on display. He doesn’t miss the way Erestor’s eyes target it. He announces, “First, you will have to get me hard again. Now, come put that pretty mouth back where it belongs until I am stiff enough to fill your sweet ass.”

“Crude,” Erestor mutters, but he obliges. 

As he rises, Glorfindel adds, “And take off your clothes.”

Grinning, Erestor obeys.


End file.
